


Big Brave World

by AoifeClare



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nonsexual, bed wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoifeClare/pseuds/AoifeClare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns from dismantling Moriarty's web, but he's not unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cyphernaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyphernaut/gifts).



> Many thanks to Cyphernaut for allowing me to play around with their universe. This story is set in the same/similar universe as her "Sick Day" stories. It is unbeta'd and not Brit-picked, so any and all mistakes are mine. This story contains nonsexual Age Play between consenting adults.

Once John recovered from the shock of Sherlock’s return and received an acceptable explanation (“So you pretended to kill yourself in order to save my life?” “Yes, well, your life along with Mrs. Hudson’s and Lestrade’s, but yes.”), he asked Sherlock if their previous arrangements still applied. Sherlock had been uncharacteristically quiet and refused to make eye contact instead preferring to stare at his feet. In a small, tired voice he answered, “If you are still amenable, then yes. If you are no longer amenable, I understand, and I promise I won’t raise the issue again.”

John pulled Sherlock into a bone crushing hug, “Of course I’m still amenable, you prat. Mind you I’m still not happy about your faked suicide and disappearing act, but I never stopped loving you.” Although Sherlock would never admit to crying, John felt the shoulder of jumper grow damp.

That was six weeks ago and since then John and Sherlock had resettled into some semblance of a routine, or what passed for a routine when living with Sherlock Holmes. Surprisingly Sherlock had not asked to share a bed with John nor had he crawled into John’s bed in the middle of the night. John thought that perhaps Sherlock was still wary of their renewed relationship. Even Sherlock would be uncertain after two years dismantling a crime syndicate.

Sherlock is quieter than before, almost skittish it seems. John doesn’t know the details of what happened, and whenever he tries to ask Sherlock or even engage in a conversation about it, he gets nowhere. Sherlock will shrug noncommittally, purse his lips, and on one occasion he threw a tea cup at John’s head. Even John can deduce that whatever happened was more than a bit not good.

Mycroft, the smug bastard that he is, provided John with a file explaining some of the more significant episodes during Sherlock’s absence. Much of the information was classified and had been blocked out by thick, black ink. From what John could gather Sherlock was subjected to all varieties of physical violence, including several instances of torture. It’s no wonder Sherlock refuses to discuss it, and John stops asking. Sherlock will talk when he’s ready, no use in pushing him.

That night John wakes up to a bang in the corridor. He rolls over and steals a glance at the clock which reads 2:37. Muttering something about mad geniuses and insomnia he slips on his dressing gown and opens the door to find Sherlock standing in the corridor holding all of his bedclothes.

“It’s 2:37 in the morning, Sherlock. You’re not to be out of bed until at least half six, I thought I made that clear.”

Sherlock gaze is downcast as he mumbles, “I know.”

John softens his approach; perhaps Sherlock was lonely or frightened and he wanted to be in bed with his daddy. “Why don’t you crawl into bed with me, and we’ll have a bit of a cuddle to help you sleep,” John asks as he reaches out to hug Sherlock.

Sherlock steps back and almost trips on his duvet. “N-no thank you, Daddy. I was just going back to bed.”

“Sherlock, you’re wandering the corridor in the middle of the night while clutching your bedclothes. There has to be a reason.” Sherlock backs away further until he’s pressed against the wall. John closes the distance between them and pulls Sherlock into a hug when he realizes why Sherlock stripped his bed: the bedding is wet, and so is Sherlock.

Sherlock struggles against him, and when John doesn’t let go quick enough he bites him. John yelps, and Sherlock disentangles himself.

John’s first instinct is to temporize and soothe, “It’s all right, Sherlock. It’s nothing we can’t take care of. Is this why you don’t want to sleep in my bed anymore?”

Sherlock does not want pity or soothing or _anything_ at that moment. He wants the ground to open and swallow him up the way it does in one of the story books John bought him. “No. Leave me alone,” he grits out between his teeth.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, love. You don’t have to handle this alone.”

Sherlock feels something break inside of him; it might be his self-control. “Of course I have to handle this alone,” he bellows, “Just like I’ve handled everything else alone! I’ve been alone for two years, I dismantled a crime syndicate on my own! I can wash my bloody sheets on my own!” Sherlock’s breathing is ragged and his eyes are red rimmed and watery. He desperately wants John to comfort him but this humiliation is too much.

“I’m not leaving you alone. You’re right, you’ve spent far too much time alone and far too much time caring for yourself,” John says gently. “We’ll leave the laundry for the morning, yeah? How about a warm bath before bed?”

Sherlock mulls this over for several silent minutes before he nods. He really is exhausted, and a warm bath and a cuddle never hurt anyone. John take his hand and leads him to the bathroom. Once there, John strips him of his sodden pyjamas and turns on the taps. Once the water is warm enough, John helps him into the tub. It’s only when he has his back to John that he remembers. He hears John’s sharp intake of breath, and he _knows_.

“Oh Sherlock. Christ, what did they do to you,” John whispers as he runs his fingers over the scars littering Sherlock’s back. Sherlock doesn’t answer, and John knows that he won’t. This isn’t the time nor the place for this discussion.

John leans down and kisses as many of the scars as he can and tries to ignore the gnawing guilt in his stomach that he wasn’t able to protect Sherlock. Sherlock relaxes under his ministrations, and John swears he hears Sherlock give a great yawn.

“All right, love, let’s get you cleaned up and then it’s back to bed.”

“I’m not tired anymore, can’t I just stay up? I promise that I’ll be good and entertain myself quietly in the kitchen.”

“No Sherlock, it’s late and little boys need their rest as do daddies,” John replies firmly as he runs a flannel over Sherlock’s calf. “We’ll wash your hair tomorrow, I don’t want you going to bed with it wet.”

“You’re a doctor, John, you should know that you can’t catch cold from having wet hair,” Sherlock grouses.

“Thank you for your medical insight, Sherlock. Still, I think we’ll wash your hair tomorrow. Up you get,” John says as holds out a towel for him. John instructs Sherlock to dry himself off while he fetches another set of pyjamas. By the time John returns to the bathroom Sherlock is wrapped in the towel with his teeth chattering slightly.

“Get dressed, and then it’s to bed with you,” John says as he hands the pyjamas to Sherlock.

“Daddy?” whispers an uncertain voice.

“Yes love?”

“Want, want you to help me get dressed.”

Oh. Sherlock is so little that he isn’t able to dress himself or maybe he’s manipulating John or maybe it’s a bit of both. Regardless, John helps Sherlock into his pyjamas and kisses his forhead.

“Bed time,” he says in a tone that doesn’t invite argument.

Sherlock follows meekly behind him and crawls into bed after John pulls back the duvet. Once John is in bed too he pulls Sherlock close to his chest.

“I’m not tired, Daddy. Can’t we read a story?”

“All signs point to you being tired, love. You’re yawning, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Why don’t you try to close them for a bit and see if you drop off to sleep, yeah?”

Sherlock contemplates putting up a fight but it’s late and he really is drowsy. He can hear John’s heartbeat, the steady rhythm establishing that John is alive and well. John strokes his hair, and Sherlock feels his eyes slip closed. Maybe he doesn’t have to fall asleep. Maybe he can just float in between sleep and wakefulness, just for a little bit. His breathing deepens and his muscles relax to their own accord. He’s asleep in fewer than ten minutes.

XXXXX

John wakes up the next morning to find Sherlock’s side of the bed empty and cool to the touch. The clock reads 8:42 as he stretches and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He checks his mobile and finds a brief text from Sherlock:

_Interesting specimen at the morgue. SH_

John honestly didn’t expect Sherlock to be there when he woke up. He knew that once Sherlock aged up he would be utterly humiliated and bolt. John takes a leisurely shower and fixes a cup of tea as he ponders his options. Clearly Sherlock has been wetting the bed recently, and John suspects that Sherlock has nightmares that trigger it. Harry wet the bed as a child and it was always a production to strip the bed in the middle of the night and change her sheets.

After starting the laundry John decides to make a trip to the shops. He wanders the aisles aimlessly until he comes across a display of adult nappies. He isn’t sure that Sherlock will agree to wear them, but surely a nappy is better than waking up to wet sheets.

John makes his purchase and returns home to find Sherlock sulking on the couch.

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sherlock says tersely.

“I think it might be easier if you age down so that we can talk about this. Would you try that for me?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and huffs but does as he is asked. He scrunches up his eyes and a few moments later shouts, “You can’t make me talk about it if I don’t want to!”

John had expected this. Instead of feeding the argument he simply sits down next to Sherlock and pats his knee. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, love, but I’m worried about you. No one likes to wake up in a bed full of wee, do they?”

Sherlock peers up cautiously at John and shakes his head.

“And it’s not like you did a wee in bed on purpose, right?”

Again, Sherlock shakes his head.

“It’s something you can’t help. Lots of people wet the bed, Sherlock, especially after something very scary happens. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened while you were away, but there were lots of scary things weren’t there?”

At this Sherlock nods his head and chews his lower lip.

“You were so brave, Sherlock, so very brave and such a big boy while you were away. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take care of you, and I’m sorry you had to be alone. You don’t have to be so brave anymore, though. You have Daddy to help take care of you now.”

John strokes Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock leans into the touch. He’s suddenly exhausted. It’s so hard to be brave and strong and not have Daddy to protect him. He much prefers being home with Daddy.

“I went to the shops this morning and bought something that will help you stay dry at night.”

John isn’t sure how Sherlock will react to seeing the nappies. He doubts Sherlock will agree to them, but stranger things have happened. For his part, Sherlock examines the package before looking up at John.

“I’m not a baby.”

“I didn’t say you are, love. You’re a very big boy, but even big boys sometimes need nappies at night. If you wear a nappy then you’ll be nice and dry, and you could even sleep in daddy’s bed without worrying that you’ll get it wet.”

Sherlock looks thoughtful for a moment before he says, “Fine, but if I don’t like it I’m not wearing it.”

John smiles, “All I ask is that you give it a try. Why don’t we put them away? We don’t need them until bedtime.”

Sherlock puts the package in John’s bedroom before demanding that John make him lunch. “I want macaroni cheese in the green bowl. And a banana.”

John is all too happy to oblige him.

XXXXXXX

After lunch, a few hours of crap telly during which Sherlock repeatedly yells at the screen, a minor experiment involving mold spores and slice of ham, and dinner, John declares that it’s time for a bath and then bed.

“It’s only eight o’clock,” Sherlock protests.

“It’s eight o’clock now but by the time you have a bath, wash your hair, clean your teeth, use the toilet, put on your pyjamas, and read a story it will be at least ten o’clock.”

“I’ll only take a bath if there are bubbles in it. And my pirate ship.”

John smiles, “I think I can arrange that.”

Sherlock spends the best part of an hour playing in the bath. His pirate ship sails over the waves and fires its canons at nefarious villains hiding in the bubbles. He grouses when John washes his hair but John pays him no attention. If his hair is washed now it should be dry enough for bed.

“All right love, bath time is over. Come on out and dry off. I’m going to get your pyjamas and nappy while you use the toilet.”

Sherlock is grateful for that small semblance of privacy. He doesn’t want to have to wee in front of John. Well, he did wee in front of John once but he was quite drunk and that didn’t count.

John helps Sherlock into his nappy and pyjamas before handing him his toothbrush. Sherlock likes cleaning his teeth, and the longer he takes cleaning his teeth the longer he stays out of bed. Unfortunately, John realizes what he’s up to and stops him.

“You have the cleanest teeth in all of London after brushing them for seven minutes. Spit and rinse, it’s time for bed.”

Sherlock doesn’t want to go to bed. He doesn’t want to have nightmares or wet himself or wake up in the middle of the night crying.

“Can’t we watch telly first? Just for a bit? I’ll even watch Eastenders with you,” Sherlock pleads.

“No, it’s bedtime. You hardly slept last night, and I’m knackered as well. Come on, you can sleep in my bed.”

Sherlock should be delighted at the prospect of sleeping in John’s bed but he’s gripped by terror. He’s going to wee, he just knows it. He’ll wake up crying with a wet nappy in the middle of the night just like a baby. It’s too much to bear.

“Daddy?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

“Sometimes… sometimes I get scared at night,” Sherlock says in a small voice. “I sometimes have bad dreams, and sometimes I cry. I’m not a brave boy, Daddy, I’m not.”

“Oh Sherlock,” says John as he brushes a curl out of Sherlock’s eyes, “You are the bravest boy I know. I don’t know anyone else who could have done what you did. You know that Daddy had bad dreams after he came back from the war. Sometimes I still have bad dreams. It happens even to the very brave, Sherlock.”

“What if I wake up in the middle of the night?”

“Then I’ll be right here to cuddle you until you fall back to sleep.”

“What if I start crying?”

“Then I’ll dry your tears and cuddle you harder.”

“What if I use my nappy?”

“Then I’ll help you clean up in the morning. It’s fine, love, it’s all fine.”

Sherlock considers this, and finds that this situation is acceptable. He still has his pride to contend with, though. “I’m not a baby, right?”

John smiles. “You are most definitely not a baby. You’re my Sherlock. Now, what story shall we read?”

For the first time in a long time Sherlock flashes John a true smile. “I want _Wind in the Willows_ , Daddy, and make sure you do the voices!”

“Will do, love, will do.”

Life isn’t perfect nor is it what it was before Sherlock’s absence but it’s fine. It’s all fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know exactly where this story is going, but I'm enjoying writing it. I hope you all enjoy reading it! xx

It’s all fine, except when it isn’t all fine. Some nights Sherlock is tetchy and angry, snarling like an animal if John dares to say that it’s time for bed. Although John knows this is a response to the trauma Sherlock has endured, he can’t help but snap back at him on occasion. Before, Sherlock was constantly spoiling for a fight. Now, he isn’t sure what to do with a fight when he finally gets it.

On those nights bedtime is difficult and often miserable for everyone involved. When they aren’t on a case, John has established a routine involving a warm bath, nappy change, stories, and cuddles. Sherlock protests but it’s usually for show because he relishes the time he spends with John before bed. It’s only when John turns off the lights and pulls the duvet up to Sherlock’s chin that Sherlock becomes combative. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he kicks, and sometimes he gets out of bed and refuses to go back. No amount of time spent on the Naughty Step can convince Sherlock to stay in bed. Sometimes John admits defeat and allows Sherlock to fall asleep in random spots in the flat. He’s come upon Sherlock slumped over the kitchen table, dozing in John’s chair, and one time he even found Sherlock asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. John is usually able to maneuver a sleepy Sherlock and guide him to his bed before John collapses in exhaustion. 

Sherlock has always struggled to sleep through the night but now instead of waking up and getting into all kinds of mischief Sherlock wakes up screaming. John does his best to soothe him but it’s not always enough. The worst are the nights when Sherlock screams and cries but never fully wakes up. He begs his tormenter to stop, please, _stop_ while John strokes his hair and rubs his back. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes for Sherlock to relax, other times it takes hours or doesn’t happen at all.

John has discovered that a nappy change often helps Sherlock fall back to sleep. He can’t imagine it would be comfortable to wake up to a wet nappy nor would it be comfortable to remain in one for the rest of the night. It’s not surprising, really. John has researched infant sleep/wake cycles and all of the websites say that a clean nappy helps a baby fall asleep.

John’s research also convinced him to purchase nappy cream despite Sherlock’s protests. “Really, John. Nappy cream? I’m hardly an infant, and besides, you are not putting that on my bottom.”

“No,” John replies with his eyebrow quirked, “I suppose you want a sore bum then.”

Sherlock scowls at John as he continues, “Sherlock, be reasonable. I already bathe you and change your nappies. Rubbing a bit of cream on your bum is not scandalous, and you’ll be more comfortable.”

Sherlock knows John is right, but he’s always loathe to admit it. If John is right then he is wrong, and “wrong” is for other people. Then again, he doesn’t want a sore bum or worse, a bum that’s raw and bleeding. Perhaps a bit of nappy cream would be a small price to pay. Sherlock still has an image to maintain so he glares at John and says, “I’m not a baby.”

John sighs and bites the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. “I’m not a baby” is Sherlock’s new mantra but the truth is Sherlock is often littler than he was before Moriarty and the fall and the absence. John thinks better of saying any of this out loud and instead gives his well-practiced response, “Of course you’re not a baby. Why don’t we try this cream and if you don’t like it _you_ can choose a different one.”

Ah, choice. Sherlock likes choices, and Sherlock likes control. This is an acceptable arrangement, and he tells John as much. He’s even delighted when John follows-up with “You could turn it into an experiment and document the effects of various nappy creams.” Yes, John Watson speaks Sherlock Holmes’ language.

Later that day John finds himself on a “mummy message board” reading about how various new mothers lull their little ones to sleep. MumNBub85 swears by the baby swing, and LuvBugXO9 waxes poetic about the virtues of the bouncy seat. Sherlock is too large and too long for a swing or a bouncy seat so John scrolls past those posts until he finds one by CBeeebieBabe detailing how her son sleeps best after a bottle of warm milk and wrapped in his favorite blanket.

A bottle of warm milk and a favorite blanket, an interesting possibility. Just as John finishes reading the post he hears a cry of “Daddy” coming from the toilet. John follows the sound and finds Sherlock standing next to the toilet in nothing but his wet pants. As soon as he sees John, Sherlock starts to cry.

“I did a wee, Daddy. I tried to get to the toilet but I couldn’t and I did a wee in my pants,” Sherlock sobs. His breathing is rapid and ragged and his shoulders shake. John has never seen anything more pitiful.

“It’s all right, Sherlock, it’s all right. Can you take off your pants while Daddy gets the bleach and kitchen roll?”

Sherlock gives a jerky nod and hooks his thumbs under the elastic of his pants as John heads to the kitchen and gets the cleaning supplies out of the cupboard. John returns to the toilet and instructs Sherlock to take a shower.

“Sherlock, love, I need you to take a shower. You don’t have to wash your hair, just the rest of your body. I’ll be right here cleaning the floor if you need help.”

Sherlock sniffles as John turns on the tap and runs the water until it’s warm enough for Sherlock. Sherlock steps into the shower and pulls the curtain closed.

John sighs and kneels on the floor and begins cleaning the puddle. Oh Sherlock. Wetting at night is one thing, but wetting during the day is quite another. As he scrubs, John ponders what could be the source of Sherlock’s toileting problems. He knows it most likely has to do with the pain and torture Sherlock has suffered, everything he pointedly refuses to discuss with John. A few weeks ago, John made the mistake of suggesting that Sherlock see a therapist.

Sherlock had given him a withering look and spat out, “Yes John, I should see a therapist because clearly your therapist was so helpful. What, pray tell, would I say to the therapist? I’m here to see you because I spent two years being tortured and beaten, because I spent two years as a dead man tracking down assassins and criminals? I think not.”

John knows better than to bring up the idea again.

“All right Sherlock, are you clean enough? You’ll still be taking a bath later so don’t worry if you missed any spots.”

John reaches in and shuts off the taps. He helps Sherlock out of the tub and wraps a towel around his shoulders.

“Now, do you have to do any more wee?”

Sherlock bites his lip and stares at his feet. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you sit on the toilet and see if any comes out, yeah?”

Without a sound Sherlock does as he is told. As it turns out he did need to make more wee, and when he finishes he looks up at John expectantly.

“Well done, Sherlock. What a big boy you are, putting your wee in the toilet. Let’s wash hands and then we’ll get you dressed.”

Sherlock offers John a watery smile as he flushes the toilet. John helps Sherlock wash his hands; hand washing with Sherlock is liable to be an all-day affair. John once found Sherlock playing in a sink overflowing with water and bubbles. Needless to say Sherlock spent some time on the Naughty Step for his mischief as well as several hours mopping and drying the floor.

John follows Sherlock to his bedroom and rifles through drawers until he finds an acceptable outfit. Sherlock sits on his bed and chews the nail on his little finger. “I don’t want a nappy, Daddy.”

“You can wear your pants, Sherlock, but I think it might help if Daddy reminded you to use the toilet just in case you forget. Big boys sometimes forget they need to go wee because they’re so busy.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything but that’s better than an argument. John knows Sherlock likes to be reminded that he is a big boy and that such reminders are an effective way to placate him. When Sherlock is dressed, John pulls onto his lap for a cuddle and kisses his forehead.

“Daddy was thinking we could go to the shops in a bit. I know a boy who might need a treat.”

Sherlock grins at John; he loves going to the shops with Daddy and getting a treat. “Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to go to the shops, and I want to take the tube. Can we take the tube, Daddy?”

John laughs, “Of course we’ll take the tube, love.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

John and Sherlock manage to locate their nearest Mothercare and arrive there without incident. Well, they arrive without incident except for Sherlock rather loudly deducing several of the passengers on the tube. John was forced to politely hush Sherlock and encourage him to whisper his deductions lest he offend anyone. Sherlock apologized but John knew he was too excited to really be contrite.

Prior to entering the shop, John reminds Sherlock of The Rules. Sherlock hates The Rules but he knows that Daddy won’t bring him to the shops unless he follows them. “Sherlock, this is a very big shop. Daddy doesn’t want you to get lost so you need to stay close to Daddy. We need to be respectful of other people in the shop and that means speaking quietly and politely. Because you’re such a big boy I know you can do this.”

Sherlock bounces on his toes and says in a whisper, “Yes, Daddy. I can do that. I can behave well in the shop.”

“Good. Now, first things first. I thought you might like to get a special blanket and a toy for bedtime. They would be yours to cuddle at bedtime or when Daddy asks you to have a sleep. Actually, we might have a sleep when we get home. I’m knackered.”

For once Sherlock doesn’t argue about the prospect of sleep. Instead he nods vigorously and follows John to a large display of blankets. He carefully examines dozens of blankets before he settles on a soft, pink blanket with a picture of an elephant.

“This one, Daddy, this one. Please,” he says.

John smiles indulgently and places the blanket in the trolley.

“Can I push the trolley? Please? I like to push the trolley.”

“You can push the trolley if you stay by me and if you don’t use it to hurt anyone or knock anything over.”

“I’ll be the best trolley-pusher ever, promise.”

With a chuckle John relinquishes control of the trolley to Sherlock. They come upon a display of soft toys, and Sherlock is instantly smitten with a yellow monkey. The monkey goes into the trolley, and Sherlock can’t keep the grin off of his face.

Now it’s time for John to take a leap of faith as he leads Sherlock towards the feeding supplies section. Sherlock shoots him a puzzled look but doesn’t say anything. John casually looks over the selection of bottles before choosing package of three large, blue bottles. On cue Sherlock says, “I’m not a baby.”

“Sometimes,” John says softly, “Sometimes big boys like to have a bit of warm milk in bed. A bottle is a nice way to have warm milk, even for big boys. Why, I even like warm milk. Perhaps these should be my bottles.”

At that Sherlock giggles and bats John’s hand. “No Daddy, I’m a big boy and I like warm milk.”

“Do you? Then perhaps we should put these in the trolley.”

Sherlock smiles despite himself. Sometimes John is so very silly.

On their way to the queue John notices that Sherlock is bouncing on his toes, not with excitement but with trepidation. Oh. _Oh_.

“Sherlock, I want you to stay right here with the trolley while I ask the clerk something.”

Sherlock nods and continues to bounce, bounce, bounce. The constant movement isn’t unusual for Sherlock, big or little, but after their earlier debacle John isn’t taking any chances. John approaches a clerk and asks to be directed to the toilets. The clerk smiles at him and flips her hair as she directs him to the back corner. John gives her his best unassuming smile and heads back to Sherlock.

“All right. Sherlock, I want you to use the toilet before we queue and go home. I’ll show you where it is, and I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“I don’t have to use the toilet!”

“Maybe not, but you won’t be able to use the toilet until we’re back at Baker Street. If you try and don’t have to go, no harm done.”

Sherlock stares at John for a few moments before deciding that perhaps using the toilet isn’t a bad idea. Besides, he’s going to the toilet by himself _thank you very much_ , and it’s really very grown up.

When Sherlock and John reach the toilet, John tells him that he has ten minutes. Sherlock isn’t sure why John is giving him a time limit. It’s not as though he’s going to play in the sink or flush all the toilets or… oh. That’s why John is giving him a time limit.

Sherlock is in and out of the toilet in eight minutes, and he tells John as much. “I did it in eight minutes, that’s two less than ten.”

“Indeed. You did an excellent job. Now we can queue and go home.”

John watches as Sherlock bounce on his toes in happiness, and hides his own smile behind his hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

By the time they reach Baker Street it’s dusk, and John has to remind Sherlock that it’s nearly dinner time so no, they are not stopping to get ice creams. Sherlock sulks until John reminds him that they just had a nice trip to the shops and that little boys who get treats shouldn’t sulk. Sherlock stops after that, but he seems uncomfortable.

Once inside Sherlock works up the courage to say something.

“Daddy?”

“Mm?” John is distracted. His head is in the refrigerator, and Sherlock knows he is trying to decide what to cook for dinner. Sherlock also knows that they’re going to have sausages and mash but he decides to let John come to his own conclusion.

“Why did you get me presents if I did wee on the floor?”

John’s head emerges from the refrigerator, and he gaze fixes on Sherlock.

“Well, I didn’t buy you presents _because_ you did wee on the floor. I thought you might need something to cheer you up. I know it’s been terribly hard on you the last few years. When you have a lot of thoughts in your head it can be hard to remember that you have to make wee and get to the toilet in time. I was so proud of you at the shop when you went to the toilet by yourself and without argument. That was something only a big boy would do.”

“I know,” Sherlock replies smugly. “I made lots of wee in the toilet, and I even did it standing up!”

John laughs. “Enough talk about wee. The kitchen is no place for toilet conversations. How about I fix us some sausages and mash for dinner?”

Sherlock smiles. “Yes please. I’ll lay the table.”

He is, after all, a big boy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased people are enjoying this story, and equally pleased to be contributing to this lovely little corner of the fandom.

Bath time goes smoothly that night. Sherlock plays with his pirate ship and only grumbles occasionally when John washes his hair. John helps Sherlock with the nappy and cream before instructing him to clean his teeth. Since a time limit worked so well earlier in the day John gives Sherlock five minutes to clean his teeth. At the five minute mark Sherlock turns on the tap and rinses his mouth before putting his toothbrush in the holder. He looks at John until John says, “Well done. Your teeth are clean, and you listened to Daddy. That’s just brilliant.”

Sherlock’s blanket and monkey are waiting for him in bed. He crawls under the blankets with Daddy and rubs the monkey’s velvety ear between his fingers. Daddy suggests that they read the Jungle Book tonight, and Sherlock is asleep by the tenth page. Sherlock’s pink blanket is under his nose, and the monkey is against his chest. Already this has been a far easier bedtime.

Before going to bed himself, John prepares a bottle of milk and stores it in the refrigerator. He wants to be ready in the wake of Sherlock’s nightmares. It isn’t that John thinks the bottle will solve the nightmares or even treat the underlying psychological issues (actually, he’s not sure anything could treat the psychological issues of Sherlock Holmes) but a well-rested Sherlock is a more stable Sherlock. And of course, if Sherlock sleeps then John can sleep. He can admit that the plan is slightly self-serving.

John gets into bed around ten and drops off shortly after. He doesn’t stir until almost two when Sherlock starts crying and shouting. Sherlock’s blanket and monkey fell on the floor at some point, and John picks them up and places them in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock is still crying but he rubs the soft edge of the blanket under his nose. John heads to the kitchen to warm the bottle. Armed with a warm bottle, he returns to the bedroom to deal with a distressed and groggy Sherlock.

John teases the nipple over Sherlock’s lips until he opens his mouth and starts to suckle. Sherlock gives a few whimpers but is otherwise quiet. While Sherlock is preoccupied with his bottle, John changes his nappy. Sherlock’s eyes are closed, and he’s no longer suckling vigorously on the bottle. He gives the occasional sleepy suck as John climbs back into bed. When the milk is finished, John places the empty bottle on the floor and pulls Sherlock to his chest. Sherlock nuzzles his neck and gives a lethargic sigh. John cards his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and lets his own eyes close.

XXXXXXXXXXX

When John wakes up he is alone in the bed. A glance at the clock tells him that it’s half past seven, and Sherlock’s side of the bed is still warm. John stretches and heads to the loo. After a pee and cleaning his teeth he meanders out to the living room and finds Sherlock flitting about.

“Lestrade texted. Double homicide. It appears to be a domestic, but with the lot at Scotland Yard can hardly determine if the sky is blue. I told him we would be at Scotland Yard within an hour.”

“We’ll be having breakfast first, and you’ll be using the toilet and cleaning your teeth.”

“I’m not little,” Sherlock bites out between clenched teeth.

“I didn’t say you were, Sherlock, however I know you haven’t used the toilet nor have you cleaned your teeth. Of course, you could go to Scotland Yard in your pyjamas and a wet nappy. It makes no difference to me.”

Sherlock looks down and confirms that yes, he is still in his pyjamas and a wet nappy. “Fine,” he snaps and stomps off to the toilet. John bites back a smile. Even “big” Sherlock can be a petulant Sherlock.

John puts in two tea bags to seep and prepares and eggs and toast while Sherlock is in the loo. Sherlock emerges and glares at John. “A proper English breakfast is hardly required.”

“Fuck off, this is hardly a proper English breakfast. No tomatoes and no sausage, now sit down and tuck in.”

Sherlock glowers but does as he’s told. “I want my toast cut into soldiers,” he demands.

John gives an exasperated sigh, “Of course you do.” Despite his aggravation, John obliges and he’s pleased to note that Sherlock eats the rest of his breakfast without argument.

By eight o’clock Sherlock and John are ready to leave but not before John asks Sherlock to use the toilet just one more time.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. I just used the toilet. I’m perfectly capable of managing my own bladder.”

Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary John says nothing. If Sherlock wants to wet his pants in public, so be it.

Outside 221B Sherlock hails a cab. During the ride he texts furiously with Lestrade, fingers flying over the keyboards. “Incompetent, the lot of them. Their so-called forensics experts will have contaminated the crime scene by the time we arrive.”

“You know Sherlock, it may be hard for you to believe but every so often other people make a good point or have something valuable to add.”

“Nonsense. If they were experts they wouldn’t rely on me to do their jobs for them.”

John looks out the window and rolls his eyes. “It must be nice being the smartest person in the world.”

Sherlock turns and looks at John. He appears genuinely confused. “No, God no, most of the time it’s awful. I’m literally surrounded by idiots.”

John just snorts and bites his tongue.

XXXXXXXX

Nine grueling hours, a car chase, a near stabbing, and two near gunshot wounds later the suspect is taken into custody. John and Sherlock haven’t stopped for a rest or food or even the toilet all day, although John did urinate in a back alley out of desperation. If nothing else his time in Afghanistan left him with limited modesty.

Before they leave New Scotland Yard John suggests that Sherlock uses the toilet. John is using the toilet anyway, Sherlock might as well. He hasn’t relieved himself all day, and John suspects that he’s experiencing significant bladder pressure.

Sherlock dismisses John with a wave of his hand and goes back to mucking about on his smart phone.

“Fine, be that way,” John snaps. It’s not terribly mature of him, but he’s in no mood for this. He knows that Sherlock needs the toilet, he knows that Sherlock is being stubborn, and he knows that this is going to end badly. He grinds his teeth as he uses the toilet and only catches himself when he sees his reflection in the mirror of the sink. Sherlock Holmes’ toileting habits will not get him, so help him God.

The cab ride home is longer than expected. It’s London in the evening and there’s been a major collision, so John and Sherlock end up sitting in traffic. Sherlock is the picture of anxious energy, tapping his fingers and jiggling his leg. His eyes dart around the cab, and he shifts in his seat.

“Perhaps you should have used the toilet,” John says casually.

Sherlock digs his nails into John’s arm and stops only when John lets out a yelp.

“Don’t take your inability to see reason out on me. I’m just an innocent bystander.”

“There’s no such thing as an innocent bystander,” Sherlock mutters.

The minutes tick by and Sherlock’s desperation is at fever pitch. He stifles a groan and shifts his legs.

“Not in the cab,” John hisses. Internally John prays to whatever God possibly exists to please let Sherlock hold his bladder until they arrive at 221B. He doesn’t want to explain to the cabbie that Sherlock is incapable of exhibiting proper toileting habits.

Sherlock presses a hand between his legs and bites his lip. He wishes John would stop being an idiot. He has no intention of urinating in the cab, can’t he see that Sherlock doesn’t have control of his body at the moment?

When they reach 221B John shoves a fistful of notes at the cabbie and pushes Sherlock out the door. Sherlock moans as he stands upright and the change in position is too much. He feels his bladder release and to his absolute horror he stands on the pavement and urinates. Tears prick his eyes, and his throat is uncomfortably tight.

John’s first thought is to smugly tell Sherlock “I told you so” but then he sees the look of sheer terror on his face. “Stand still until you finish, then we’ll get you cleaned up inside. Nod when it’s over,” he whispers.

Sherlock stands stock still for a few moments and nods. John helps him into the flat, and Sherlock feels the tears roll down his cheeks. His chest feels as though a rhinoceros is sitting on it, and he just wants to die or disappear or not exist. It’s really too much to bear. The tears come faster and more forcefully, and Sherlock starts to hyperventilate.

He hears John telling him that it’s all right, that he’s not angry, and that they can fix this. Sherlock desperately wants to believe him but he knows better. He sobs as John divests him of his clothing and leads him to the shower.

John cards his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as he helps him into the shower. Sherlock continues to cry loudly and forcefully as John cleans him as quickly as he can. John wants to ensure that Sherlock doesn’t develop a rash or smell like urine, it doesn’t have to be the most thorough shower of his life. Sherlock shivers when John turns off the water, whether from cold or anxiety John isn’t sure.

“Sherlock, love, come on now. I’ve got your nappies and cream in my room as well as clean pyjamas. Let’s get you warm and comfortable.”

Sherlock says nothing, and it’s not clear whether or not he even registered what John said. He does allow John to lead him the bedroom. He’s limply lies down on the bed as John tapes on his nappy and helps him into the pyjamas. He’s still crying but not with the same urgency. It makes sense, physiologically. He can’t cry forever, although he feels as though he could.

John worries when Sherlock doesn’t fight him about the nappy. He expected some sort of resistance, an instance that Sherlock is not a baby but it never comes. Eventually, John realizes that right now Sherlock is a baby. Babies cry to communicate their displeasure, their pain, their anguish, and discomfort. Sherlock is experiencing all of those things, so it’s only natural that he’s crying. He leans over and whispers “I love you” in Sherlock’s ear.

“Why don’t I make a warm bottle and we’ll cuddle for a bit, yeah? Come with Daddy and have a lie down on the sofa while Daddy gets your bottle. Daddy has your blanket and monkey for you to cuddle while you wait.”

Again, Sherlock moves listlessly to the sofa and rubs his face in the soft pink blanket. It feels so good to bury his face in it. He doesn’t have to look at anyone or anything while his face is in the blanket.

John turns on the telly and switches stations until he finds CBBC. In the Night Garden is on, and Sherlock peeks out from behind the blanket to watch. Iggle Piggle has lost his blanket, and that’s just awful. Sherlock can’t imagine losing his blanket and holds it tighter.

In the kitchen John warms the bottle and fixes a cup of tea for himself. He finds a package of biscuits in the cupboard and puts them on a plate. Neither he nor Sherlock have eaten since breakfast, and everything always seems worse on an empty stomach. He grabs the plate, his teacup, and the bottle and returns to the living room where Sherlock is still whimpering.

He sits down on the sofa and pulls Sherlock onto his lap, offering him the bottle. Sherlock latches on immediately and sucks greedily. “You know Sherlock,” John says, “It’s all right if you’re a baby sometimes.  You don’t always have to be a big boy. Daddy knows that sometimes you’re quite little, and it’s all right. You’re safe and loved here.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply but he does nuzzle Daddy’s neck and cuddles closer. When the bottle is empty Daddy pats his back until he burps. Sherlock can smell Daddy’s soap and shaving cream and he rubs his face along Daddy’s chin.  Daddy strokes Sherlock’s hair and rocks him gently. It’s okay to be so little. The panic recedes a bit, and Sherlock huffs out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

John knows this is only a temporary reprieve. Sherlock clearly requires more care than he let on, and John is fairly certain that what he saw in the files Mycroft provided is only a fraction of what Sherlock endured. Sherlock is in no condition to talk about what happened, but John knows when someone is reliving a trauma. He knows it intimately. Something has to change, but it can wait until tomorrow. Life might look a bit better after a sleep and a meal.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock dozes on and off until nine o’clock when John determines that it’s time for bed. He takes Sherlock by the hand and leads him to John’s bedroom. Sherlock clutches his blanket and monkey tightly and watches John with bleary eyes. John sets out a clean nappy and the container of cream on the bed and coaxes Sherlock to lie down.

“There’s Daddy’s good boy,” John says softly as he strokes Sherlock’s cheek. He makes quick work of the nappy and helps Sherlock settle under the duvet. John climbs into bed after him and pulls him to his chest.

There are no stories tonight. Sherlock is too little and too sleepy. Instead he snuffles against John’s shoulder and puts his thumb in his mouth. John rubs his back and hums a bit of Schubert’s Ave Maria. He listens as Sherlock’s breathing deepens and slows, and John feels safe enough to close his own eyes.

John jerks awake after only three hours of sleep to Sherlock’s crying. He opens his eyes and watches as Sherlock sobs around his thumb and gropes blindly for his blanket. John rubs the blanket across Sherlock’s cheek until a hand reaches up to grasp it. The crying continues, and John pads to kitchen for a bottle. In some ways this must be what it’s like to have an infant, waking up for milk and comfort at all hours of the night. Perhaps he should bring a dish towel to clean up any milk related messes.

Sherlock is still crying when John returns to bed, although he quickly latches onto the bottle when it’s offered. His eyes are closed and his fingers are curled around his blanket. He suckles industriously and John holds the bottle for him. Milky drool dribbles down his chin, and John uses the dish cloth to clean it.

“There you are, love. Just needed a bit of milk. It’s always easier to sleep on a full tummy,” John whispers.

Sherlock whimpers when the bottle is empty, and John encourages him to sit up a bit. Sherlock’s eyes remain closed and he’s clearly at least half-asleep. John pats his back until Sherlock burps and lays him back down. No need to create wind or indigestion. Once Sherlock is settled, John lies awake for a bit before managing to drift off to sleep.

This time Sherlock sleeps for almost five hours before waking and crying. His nappy is heavy and full between his legs.

“All right darling, I know your nappy is wet and cold. Daddy will change you.”

Daddy changes Sherlock quickly and efficiently. The cream on his bum is warm. Daddy must have rubbed it between his hands to set off the chill. Sherlock nuzzles his monkey and listens as Daddy goes into the kitchen. He must be getting a bottle.

Sherlock is right; Daddy returns with a bottle of warm milk for him. Sherlock nurses and cuddles close to Daddy. He feels safe with Daddy. His nappy is dry, and the warm milk keeps his tummy full and comfortable. He starts to doze off again as he suckles. He loves Daddy very much.

XXXX

In the morning Sherlock is still little, although he’s not quite a baby. He wakes next to Daddy and begins to cry. He’s wearing a nappy, and he’s a big boy. He wants to wear pants like Daddy, not a nappy like a baby.

Daddy gives him a cuddle and asks why he’s crying.

“I’m a big boy, Daddy. Big boys make wee in the toilet!”

Daddy looks at him for a moment before explaining, “You are a big boy, Sherlock, but you’re having a lot of trouble remembering to use the toilet. Why don’t we go to the shop today and buy special pants for you? They aren’t nappies, they’re just like big boy pants only if you make wee your trousers won’t get wet. No one will know that you’re wearing them except for you and Daddy.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t like having wet trousers but the special pants sound very much like nappies. He sulks until Daddy says, “We can also buy stickers at the shop. Daddy will make a chart for you and every time you make your wee in the toilet you earn a sticker. When you earn ten stickers then you get a prize.”

Now this has interesting possibilities. “I want to choose the stickers.”

“Of course you can choose the stickers, love.”

Sherlock sucks his thumb a bit and cuddles Daddy until he remembers that he’s in a wet nappy. “Change me,” he demands petulantly.

“Of course, your highness. Would you like to use the toilet before I put on a clean nappy? I know I said you didn’t have to wear nappies, but I think it would be a good idea for you to wear one until we can get to the shops.”

“I need you to come with me to the toilet.”

“That can be arranged,” Daddy says as he helps Sherlock out of his wet nappy. Sherlock brings his hand to his mouth to stifle a giggle. It feels silly to walk around with his willy hanging out. He follows Daddy to the toilet and sits down.

As soon as he sits he declares “All done!”

Daddy looks skeptical. “Why don’t you try to make your wee? Big boys sit on the toilet for a few minutes to see if any wee comes out.”

Sherlock does want to be a big boy so he sits on the toilet and tries again. This time he does make wee, and Daddy says that he is a clever boy.

“Well done, Sherlock. Can you flush the toilet and then wash hands with Daddy?”

Of course Sherlock can flush the toilet. Daddy helps him wash his hands. Sherlock tries to splash in the sink and play with the soap but Daddy turns off the taps.

“Excellent. Your hands are all clean. Once you get a clean nappy, we can have breakfast.”

Deprived of his game, Sherlock decides on another kind of mischief. He darts out of the toilet and races through the flat laughing. Daddy follows after him, and Sherlock laughs harder. Sherlock hides behind the sofa giggling until Daddy finds him.

“Sherlock, it’s very naughty to run about the flat naked. After you get your nappy you will sit on the Naughty Step for five minutes.”

“No, Daddy! I’m not sitting on the Naughty Step.”

“That’s fine. You also won’t be going to the shops then.”

Sherlock closes his mouth and thinks. He wants to go to the shops but he doesn’t want to sit on the Naughty Step. He starts cry as Daddy tapes on a dry nappy and then leads him to the Naughty Step. He howls when Daddy explains, “Sherlock, you are sitting on the Naughty Step because you did not listen to Daddy. You may not run about the flat naked. You are to sit here for five minutes.”

Sherlock’s cries reach fever pitch when Daddy leaves him. Sherlock bangs his fists on the steps and stomps his feet, but he doesn’t get up. He knows Daddy might not take him to the shops if he disobeys, and he doesn’t want to take the chance. Snot drips from his nose, and Sherlock wipes it away with his hand. He doesn’t care that it’s sticky or yucky, it’s all Daddy’s fault for making him sit on the Naughty Step.

After an eternity (or five minutes) Daddy comes back and kneels in front of Sherlock, looking at him expectantly. “Sherlock, why did Daddy place you on the Naughty Step?”

“Be-because I ran away from you and-and I was naked,” Sherlock blubbers.

“That’s right. What do you say to Daddy?”

Sherlock is still angry, and he’s not ready to say sorry but he also wants to get off the Naughty Step. He swallows his pride and stammers, “S-sorry Daddy.”

Daddy wipes Sherlock’s nose with a tissue before cuddling him close. “You’re forgiven. Now, I made some toast for breakfast. I expect you to eat it while I take a shower. You can eat it while watching the tell if you’d like, but I expect it to all end up in your tummy and not in the bin.”

Sherlock sniffles and sits in front of the telly with his plate of toast. Pocoyo is on and Sherlock chews listlessly on his toast as Daddy heads to the shower. Sherlock is surprisingly hungry and his toast disappears quickly. Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock sees that Daddy has put out some of his old toys. They were toys that Sherlock had before. Sherlock didn’t know that Daddy still had them. Sherlock pulls out his box of bricks and sets about making 221B. He doesn’t even hear Daddy when he comes into the living room.

“That’s a brilliant building you have there Sherlock, and you ate all of your toast. I’m very pleased with you.”

Sherlock smiles. He’s pleased with himself too. “Can we go to the shops now? Please, Daddy?”

“You need to clean your teeth and use the toilet first.”

Sherlock thinks better of throwing a strop. If he whinges Daddy will put him back on the Naughty Step, and he won’t go to the shops. That would be awful. “I need help, Daddy.”

“Of course you do. Let’s go then.”

Daddy helps Sherlock with his trousers and his nappy. They discover that Sherlock’s nappy is a bit wet, and Sherlock doesn’t remember making wee. Maybe he did it while he was on the Naughty Step. Sometimes even big boys make a little wee if they are very upset. Daddy doesn’t say anything about the wet nappy and instead finds a dry one in the cupboard.

Sherlock sits on the toilet and makes wee just like a big boy. He flushes the toilet and Daddy tapes on a fresh nappy. Sherlock is a good boy while they wash hands and clean teeth. Now he is ready to go to the shops…. Well, as soon as Daddy helps him with his shoes.

Sherlock holds Daddy’s hand as they walk to a small toy shop down the road. It’s a good place to buy stickers and a few prizes for when Sherlock uses the toilet. Daddy reminds Sherlock of The Rules and leads him into the shop.

It’s a Tuesday morning, and the shop is quiet. Sherlock immediately finds stickers with Iggle Piggle and the Ninky Nonk on them. “These stickers, Daddy!”

Daddy lets Sherlock hold the stickers as they browse through some of the small toys. Sherlock chooses an Iggle Piggle doll, a police car, a paint set, and a fire truck. When Sherlock earns ten stickers then Daddy will give him a toy. Daddy says he will keep the toys in a special hiding place until Sherlock earns them. Sherlock is a bit sad that won’t be able to play with his new toys when he gets home but then he sees a shelf with training cups. There’s a package of two training cups with Iggle Piggle on them. He tugs Daddy’s sleeve and asks if he might have them. Daddy is silly and pretends to think about before agreeing that Sherlock can have the cups. Sherlock plans to use them as soon as they get home.

Daddy pays for everything, and he even lets Sherlock hold the shopping bag. Sherlock feels big and important walking with Daddy and holding the bag. They next stop at the pharmacy where Daddy buys several packages of pull up pants for Sherlock. Daddy holds that bag, and they walk back to 221B. On the way back they stop at a café for tea. Sherlock feels very grown up drinking tea with Daddy.

When they reach 221B Daddy shows him the special chart on the refrigerator. When Sherlock makes wee in the toilet he can put an Iggle Piggle sticker on the chart. “Why don’t we try to make wee right now? Then you can put a sticker on your chart!”

That’s an excellent idea. Sherlock and Daddy go to the toilet, and Daddy takes off Sherlock’s nappy. This time the nappy is dry, and Sherlock is proud of himself for having a dry nappy. He sits on the toilet and waits to make his wee. When he does, he yells at Daddy, “Look Daddy, I made lots of wee in the toilet!”

Daddy chuckles and says, “Yes you did. I’m so proud of you.”

Daddy helps Sherlock drag the pull-up over his hips and put on his trousers. Sherlock feels much bigger with the pull-up on. Babies don’t wear pull-ups, only big boys do. He washes his hands and then runs to the kitchen.

“I need a sticker Daddy!”

Daddy holds out a sheet of stickers for Sherlock to choose from. Sherlock chooses a sticker with Iggle Piggle and his blanket. He puts it on the chart and points excitedly to it. “I’m a big boy!”

Daddy ruffles his hair and says, “You are indeed. Now, why doesn’t my big boy have a play while Daddy works on the computer?”

Sherlock builds with his bricks for the better part of the morning. He also finds one of his airplanes and pretends to be a pilot. He flits about the flat and soars through the sky. Daddy sits with his laptop and types something, probably a blog. All of a sudden Sherlock stops. “Daddy, I need a wee!”

Daddy puts down the laptop and goes to the toilet with Sherlock. Sherlock has already made a little wee in his pull-up but Daddy says not to worry. His trousers aren’t wet, and Sherlock makes most of his wee in the toilet. Daddy helps Sherlock into a dry pull-up and wash his hands before reminding him that he earned a sticker for making wee in the toilet.

This time Sherlock picks a sticker with the Ninky Nonk on it. He puts it next to Iggle Piggle and stands back to admire his work. Daddy has taken the opportunity to make lunch. Sherlock smells bacon and toast. He knows they’re having bacon butties.

“I want juice in my Iggle Piggle cup, please.”

Daddy obliges, and Sherlock drinks juice from his Iggle Piggle cup during lunch. He’s a bit sleepy, and Daddy catches him yawning. He doesn’t want to have a sleep, and he tells Daddy as much.

“Why don’t we have a cuddle on the sofa?”

Sherlock likes cuddles, and he won’t fall asleep. Except that he does fall asleep and when he wakes up his pull-up is cold and wet. He cries until Daddy gives him cuddles and hushes him. Sherlock is always wet when he wakes up, this isn’t an unexpected failure.

Daddy encourages him to the use the toilet but no wee comes out. Sherlock doesn’t get a sticker, and he cries more. Daddy gives him the Iggle Piggle cup filled with juice. If Sherlock drinks juice he will make more wee and get a sticker. Daddy has also left one of Sherlock’s old dummies on the coffee table. Sherlock forgot that Daddy had dummies for him. When Daddy isn’t looking, Sherlock puts the dummy in his mouth and takes a few comforting sucks. He decides to leave the dummy in his mouth while he plays with his bricks and cars.

A little while later Daddy suggests that they use the toilet again. Sherlock’s pull-up is dry! He makes all of his wee in the toilet just like Daddy. He washes his hands and puts up another sticker.

“One, two, three,” he counts. “How many more do I need for a prize?”

“You need seven more stickers to make ten in order to get a prize.”

Sherlock can do that. Except that he slides littler the rest of the day. He plays bricks and watches Postman Pat and doesn’t even notice that he wet his pull-up. Daddy checks him and discovers that he’s wet. He bawls, and Daddy reassures him.

“You’re too little to use the toilet right now, aren’t you Sherlock? It’s all right if you’re too little.”

Daddy changes him out of the pull-up and into a nappy. Sherlock is so little that he sucks his dummy and allows Daddy to cuddle him afterwards. Postman Pat is over and In the Night Garden comes on. Daddy goes to the bedroom and retrieves Sherlock’s blanket and monkey. Sherlock rubs the blanket between his fingers, and Daddy makes dinner in the kitchen. He returns with two bowls of soup. Sherlock isn’t sure that he can hold a spoon by himself. Fortunately Daddy has the same thought and feeds Sherlock. Sometimes Daddy is just brilliant.

Sherlock amuses himself with a few toy cars while Daddy eats his soup. When he tires of his cars he cuddles his monkey and sucks on his dummy. He’s feeling very sleepy.

“Bath time Sherlock, come on.”

Daddy holds his hand and guides him to the bath and turns on the tap. When the tub is filled with warm, soapy water Sherlock sits down and allows Daddy to wash him. Daddy uses a soft flannel, and Sherlock splashes and babbles. When his bath is over, Daddy dries him with a towel and kisses his cheek.

“What a nice clean boy I have. Let’s get your pyjamas and nappy, love.”

Sherlock finds a pair of one piece pyjamas on the bed. They look very cozy. Daddy puts on his nappy and then his pyjamas. Sherlock was right, they are cozy and warm. There’s a bottle waiting for Sherlock. He cuddles close as Daddy feeds him his bottle and rocks him a bit.

“You’re Daddy’s good boy, Sherlock no matter how big or little you are. Daddy loves you just the same.”

Daddy burps him before easing him onto the mattress. He rubs circles on Sherlock’s back until he falls asleep with his blanket and monkey. He’s really very happy to be at home with Daddy. Tomorrow he can try to be a big boy again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not thrilled with this chapter, but hopefully it moves the story along.

Sherlock wakes three times during the night. Twice he requires nappy changes, and once he only requires a bottle. The next morning John watches as Sherlock sits on the toilet and eventually urinates. Sherlock squeals with excitement because now he gets another sticker on his chart. John offers him a dry pull-up to wear and helps him wash his hands. Sherlock runs to the kitchen and bounces excitedly in front of his chart.

“I made wee in the toilet, Daddy. I get another sticker!”

John lets Sherlock choose his sticker, this time it has Upsy Daisy on it. Sherlock puts it on the chart and claps his hands. “One, two, three, four. Four stickers!”

“Well done. Only six more until you earn a prize. Now Sherlock, I need to talk to you.”

Sherlock looks up; it’s never good when Daddy needs to talk to him. It’s early and he hasn’t even been naughty yet.

“Sarah called, and she needs me at the surgery for a few hours this afternoon. I’ll only be gone for four hours at the most. Do you think you can be a big boy while Daddy’s gone?”

Sherlock is torn. He wants to show Daddy what a big boy he is, but he doesn’t want Daddy to leave. What if Daddy doesn’t come home? What if he gets hurt or just disappears? A pit opens in Sherlock’s stomach but he puts on a brave face. “I can be a big boy Daddy.”

“All right. I don’t have to leave until eleven. That gives us some time to prepare.”

Daddy bustles about the kitchen preparing breakfast and lunch. Sherlock sits miserably at the table and picks at the toast Daddy sets in front of him. He’s not even pleased to see his Iggle Piggle cup filled with juice. Daddy makes a peanut butter and jam sandwich for Sherlock’s lunch and leaves it on the counter.

“You’re not to touch the stove or the oven while I’m at work. Is that understood?”

Sherlock bites his lip and nods. Maybe he can just watch telly while Daddy works and play with his cars a bit. Maybe he won’t even notice that Daddy is gone. Daddy heads to the shower and Sherlock turns on CBeebies. Bob the Builder is on, and he watches as he sucks his dummy.

Daddy emerges from the shower neat and clean.  He’s dressed in work clothes, and Sherlock’s stomach lurches. “Could I go to work with you, Daddy? I’ll be very quiet. I’ll just play with my cars, and you can work.”

Daddy sits next to him on the sofa. “I know it must be scary for you that I’m leaving you alone and going to the surgery. I promise that I will be home as soon as I can. Why don’t you use the toilet one more time before I leave?”

Sherlock drags his feet and makes his way to the toilet. His pull-up is dry, but he’s so anxious that he doesn’t even care. He sits down and makes a little wee. Daddy smiles and reminds him that he’s earned another sticker. Sherlock just wants to cry as he washes his hands and follows Daddy to the refrigerator. He puts another Iggle Piggle sticker on the chart before going to the sofa and flopping down.

Daddy puts on his shoes and gives Sherlock a kiss and a cuddle. Sherlock is very brave and doesn’t cry. Daddy is even kind enough to hand him his monkey and blanket. Sherlock sets them gently on the couch, and sucks on his fingers.

Daddy says his goodbyes, and Sherlock watches him leave. He manages to wait until Daddy is outside to start crying. He buries his face in his blanket and sobs loudly enough to drown out Mike the Knight. After a while his sobs become more sporadic and he comforts himself by sucking a dummy and cuddling his blanket. Daddy will be home later, and everything will be okay. His eyes close, and Sherlock thinks that maybe a little sleep will help.

When he wakes up, Sherlock forgets that Daddy isn’t home. It must be midafternoon, but Sherlock is too panicked to check the clock. His pull-up is wet and heavy between his legs, and he runs through the flat crying for Daddy until he realizes that Daddy went to work. He’s wet and hungry, and he’s forgotten all about the sandwich that Daddy left on the counter.

His thoughts are racing, and his heart beats faster and faster. What if Daddy never comes home? What if Sherlock is all alone again? What if it’s just like Serbia or Russia or Cambodia or all the other places Sherlock was alone and tortured? Or worse yet, what if the bad men get Daddy? What if they’re waiting outside the door for Sherlock?

Sherlock needs to hide. He considers his options and decides that it would be best to curl up in the back under his bed. It’s dark under there, and if the bad men come they won’t be able to find him. Sherlock runs to his room and crawls under the bed and into the corner, pressing himself against the wall. He’s crying again, and he realizes that he left his blanket and monkey in the living room. He’s too frightened to go out, so he soothes himself by sucking his thumb. It’s not enough, but it will have to do.

Sherlock feels something wet and warm underneath him. His pull-up is leaking, it’s not meant to hold as much wee as a nappy. Sherlock wonders if Daddy will be cross because he’s made such a mess of himself. Then he remembers that Daddy might never come home, and he starts crying again. He’s not brave. He’s not brave at all.

XXXXX

John is surprised when he doesn’t receive any texts from Sherlock while he’s at the surgery and even more surprised to come home to an empty flat. There’s no sign of Sherlock, but the telly is blaring and the sandwich sits undisturbed in the kitchen. Sherlock’s shoes are by the front door, so he didn’t go out either. “Sherlock,” he calls but he receives no answer.

He checks the toilet, but there’s no Sherlock there. No Sherlock hiding in the cupboards either. He makes his way to Sherlock’s room but there’s no sign of Sherlock there either until he hears ragged breaths. “Sherlock,” John says more cautiously this time.

The ragged breathing continues, and John lowers himself to the ground. He lays his head on the floor and looks under the bed where he finds a shaking and clearly distressed Sherlock. “Sherlock,” he tries again. Sherlock gives no response but when John reaches a hand towards him Sherlock screams.

“It’s all right Sherlock. It’s John, you’re home at Baker Street.”

John lays on the floor for almost half an hour before Sherlock inches closer. John can smell the urine and he kicks himself for not offering Sherlock a nappy before he left. Actually, he kicks himself for leaving Sherlock but he though Sherlock would be capable of amusing himself for a few hours. He helps Sherlock out from under the bed. Sherlock won’t look at him, and he’s still crying.

“Hey. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left, but I’m home now. See? I’m home,” John whispers as he strokes Sherlock’s arm.

“The bad men were coming for me and then I’d never see you again,” Sherlock sobs.

John thinks he knows what Sherlock is referring to, but he still asks “Which bad men?”

“I can’t tell you because then they’ll come and take me back.”

“No one is coming is coming to take you away. No one. You’re staying right here with me,” John reassures him. “Do you want to tell me about the bad men?”

“I made wee,” Sherlock says dejectedly. “I don’t get a sticker.”

“Let’s get you clean and dry, love. Why don’t you sit on the toilet before your bath? We can always try again.”

John leads a meek Sherlock to the toilet; he’s alarmed by how quickly Sherlock switched from fixating on the “bad men” to fixating on his wet pants. He strips Sherlock of his wet clothes and sits him on the toilet while he turns on the tap. Sherlock’s gaze is vacant and his shoulders are still shaking. Sherlock doesn’t even answer when John asks if he wants toys in his bath.

Sherlock does wee in the toilet, and John gently praises him. “Well done, love. We’ll put your sticker on the chart after your bath. Come on now, in the tub.”

Sherlock remains silent during the bath, and he doesn’t protest as John washes him. He sits almost entirely still; he doesn’t play or splash like he typically does. When he helps Sherlock out of the tub he asks if Sherlock wants a pull-up or a nappy. He doesn’t receive an answer, so he decides on a nappy.

John chooses which sticker Sherlock should put on his chart. He has to guide Sherlock’s hand to place it on the chart instead of on the refrigerator. Sherlock finds a dummy on the counter and puts it in his mouth and sucks vigorously. He’s very little then.

Pocoyo plays on the telly, but Sherlock shows no interest. He clings to John and cries when John goes to the toilet. “No, no, no,” he shouts.

Any other time John would remind him of the Naughty Step, but he knows that Sherlock isn’t capable of controlling his behavior at the moment. Instead he thinks about what he read on a parenting forum about toilet training: model the behavior for your child. If John isn’t getting privacy in the toilet then Sherlock might as well get a lesson.

He takes Sherlock’s hand and leads him to the toilet. Sherlock has stopped crying but he still sniffles behind his dummy. “Daddy is going to use the toilet just like Sherlock uses the toilet.”

John hasn’t had to sit down to urinate in ages but he doesn’t trust Sherlock to stand while using the toilet. He pulls down his trousers and pants and proceeds to have a wee. Sherlock watches intently as John flushes and washes his hands.

“All done. Now I’m finished in the toilet. Would you like a turn on the toilet?”

John expects that Sherlock is too little to use the toilet, and he’s proven correct when Sherlock shows no interest in having his own turn. Instead he leads Sherlock to the kitchen where he prepares a bottle and a cup of tea before settling in for a cuddle on the sofa. Sherlock guzzles his milk while John rocks him gently.

XXXX

 Sherlock finds his monkey and blanket on the sofa and cuddles them while Daddy makes dinner. He flops on his tummy and rubs his face in the soft pink blanket. He’s so tired of being a big boy.  Maybe after dinner and a sleep he will feel better and be a big boy again.

XXX

That night is particularly terrible. Sherlock cries inconsolably despite nappy changes, cuddles, and bottles. Neither he nor John sleep much so when John is nudged awake at half past six he groans and pulls the duvet over his head.

“I need to make wee Daddy, hurry,” Sherlock pleads.

John yawns as he follows Sherlock to the toilet. He helps Sherlock out of his wet nighttime nappy and seats him on the toilet. He’s surprised that Sherlock is in a good mood, and Sherlock smiles saying “I’m sitting on the toilet just like Daddy!”

Ah, so the bit of modeling paid off. Sherlock makes his wee and claps for himself as John helps him into a dry pull-up. “Big boy pull-up. Big boys wear pull-ups,” Sherlock chirps as they wash hands and head to the kitchen for Sherlock’s sticker.

After his new sticker is on the chart, Sherlock counts them. “One, two, three, four, five, six. How many more for a prize, Daddy?”

“Four more stickers and then you earn a prize.”

John has tea while Sherlock drinks juice from his Iggle Piggle cup. John makes a mental note to purchase additional training cups the next time they are in the store. He’s fairly certain that Sherlock would be equally thrilled with a Peppa Pig or Pocoyo set. “Sherlock, Daddy wants to ask you something.”

“What,” Sherlock replies as he plays with his bricks and cars. John is more likely to get an answer if Sherlock is distracted.

“Do you think that you could tell Daddy about the bad men,” John asks cautiously.

Sherlock’s entire demeanor changes. He drops his bricks and shouts “No, no, no, you can’t make me talk about the bad men!”

“I just want to help, love. If we talk about it then maybe you’ll feel better.”

Sherlock bolts to his bedroom and slams the door. John buries his head in his hands; he needs a new plan of attack.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait. Work has been busy, I've been sick, and there's been so much snow. Thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing. xx

John lays on the sofa until it’s clear that Sherlock isn’t coming back. He doesn’t hear any noise from Sherlock’s room even when he gets up and presses his ear to the door. He cracks open the door and watches as Sherlock cuddles his blanket and sucks his dummy while curled up in bed. After a few moments Sherlock notices that the door is open and buries his face in the blanket. He doesn’t want to talk, not at all.

Sherlock doesn’t move when John sits on the edge of the bed nor does he move when John spoons behind him. John tentatively pets Sherlock’s hair and feels Sherlock’s body relax into his. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he says. He desperately wants Sherlock to talk but forcing him will only make things worse. John doesn’t even want to consider what “worse” might look like.

Quietly Sherlock rolls over and tucks himself beneath John’s chin, pressing a hand to his chest. They lay like that for a while just touching and breathing until Sherlock is calm and sleepy. He yawns around his dummy but doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t want a sleep, he just wants to be cuddled. It’s safe and quiet here.  

XXXX

Sherlock falls asleep, but so does Daddy. The previous night was taxing and they could both use the additional rest. Daddy wakes when Sherlock starts crying. Daddy offers a warm bottle, and Sherlock suckles and watches Daddy with bleary eyes. He finishes his bottle and yawns.

Sherlock’s pull-up is wet, and he cries until Daddy changes him. When he’s dry Sherlock follows Daddy to the kitchen for lunch. He stays close to Daddy to ensure that he doesn’t disappear. They sit on the sofa and eat sandwiches while Peppa Pig plays on the telly. Daddy gets up for a cup of tea, and Sherlock follows. He clutches the hem of Daddy’s shirt as he bustles about the kitchen and is gratified when Daddy hands him the Iggle Piggle cup filled with cold juice.

Daddy brings his tea back to the sofa, and Sherlock cuddles close and drinks his juice. Maybe they’ll never leave the sofa again. Sherlock would be okay with that, except he’d like to have a play with his toys. He manages to collect his bricks and move them to Daddy’s feet. He presses his back against Daddy’s leg and contentedly builds a tower. Daddy leans over and retrieves his laptop from the coffee table, and Sherlock listens to the soothing click-clack of the keys.

It’s all fine until Daddy gets up to use the toilet. He tells Sherlock as much, but Sherlock still follows him and sits on the floor while Daddy has his wee. Sherlock refuses to use the toilet, and Daddy doesn’t force the issue.

“You’ll use the toilet when you’re ready,” is all he says.

In the living room Sherlock sprawls on the floor at Daddy’s feet watching Postman Pat. His dummy bobs in his mouth and he rubs the soft edges of his blanket on his cheeks. Occasionally he rubs his cheek against Daddy’s leg, and Daddy’s hand reaches down and pets his hair. “You’re a good boy, Sherlock,” Daddy says affectionately.

Sherlock isn’t sure that he’s a good boy, but he doesn’t want to be disagreeable. He’s sleepy again but it’s too early for bed and too late for a sleep. Daddy will probably cook dinner soon, and Sherlock hopes that he makes pasta. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice when Daddy checks his nappy.

“Time for a dry nappy, love. Up you get and to your bedroom,” Daddy says kindly.

Daddy follows close behind him, and Sherlock looks back just to be certain. He lays down on his bed and waits for Daddy to remove his trousers and nappy. His eyes start to close as Daddy cleans him and applies the cream. Daddy tickles his tummy a bit, and he startles. “None of that now,” Daddy says, “If you fall asleep now you’ll be awake all night.”

Sherlock whinges a bit as Daddy tapes on a dry nappy and kicks his legs when Daddy tries to put his trousers on. “We don’t kick. Is this because you don’t want to wear your trousers,” Daddy asks.

Sherlock just wants to cry but he doesn’t understand why. He thinks he might be angry at Daddy but he doesn’t want to be angry so he pushes the thought far away. Instead he just nods in answer to Daddy’s question. Daddy folds the trousers and places them on the end of the bed.

“Are you ready,” Daddy asks. Sherlock stretches out his arms and Daddy understands that he wants help getting off the bed. Once upright, Daddy pulls him in for a cuddle before heading to the kitchen.

Sherlock sits at the table with his cars while Daddy cooks. Sherlock is pleased to see that Daddy is making pasta with meat sauce. Daddy lays the table and Sherlock puts his cars away in the living room. Daddy has a rule that no toys can be on the table during meals. Sherlock thinks it’s a stupid rule, but he obeys anyway.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Sherlock still feels angry and sad and so many confusing things that he focuses on his food. His Iggle Piggle cup is full of cold juice, and Sherlock drinks in between bites of pasta. He hadn’t realized how he hungry he was until he started eating. Daddy smiles when he sees how much pasta Sherlock has eaten. “Well done,” he says, “Perhaps there will even be a treat for dessert.”

Sherlock doesn’t think they have any treats in the flat. He would know if they had ice cream or biscuits or sweeties except as it turns out Daddy managed to hide a package of Jammie Dodgers in the cupboard. Sherlock chews on a biscuit as he watches an episode of In the Night Garden. Daddy is washing the dishes, and then he’ll probably read the newspaper. When his biscuit is gone, Sherlock finds a dummy and his blanket. As he rolls onto his stomach he realizes that his nappy is wet and heavy again. He doesn’t remember making wee, but he doesn’t want to be changed. Daddy will make him go to the bedroom and interrupt his program. He’ll just wait until Daddy decides to check his nappy.

Sherlock rifles through his toys. He’s tired of bricks and cars. Eventually he finds his plush inchworm that’s covered in different textured fabrics. It had been one of his favorites “before” but he hadn’t played with it since his return. He runs his fingers over the fabrics as the Ninky Nonk appears. Daddy comes in and sits on the sofa with the newspaper while Sherlock plays. Out of curiosity Sherlock squeezes the inchworm’s head and is delighted when it makes music. He had forgotten all about that.

Eventually Sherlock lays down on his tummy, one hand clutching the inchworm and the other clutching his blanket. His eyes slip closed and he nearly falls asleep (again) until Daddy leans down and strokes his hair and whispers, “Come on, love. It’s a warm bath and bed for you.”

Something twists in Sherlock, and he starts to cry. He’s exhausted, and he doesn’t want a bath. The dummy slips from his mouth as he cries. He wants to have a sleep with his blanket and inchworm. Daddy hushes him and tells him that’s all right, it’s only a bath.

“You’re sticky and dirty, Sherlock. You can’t go to bed covered in pasta sauce and jam,” Daddy says firmly.

Sherlock cries harder when Daddy turns on the taps and he bats away Daddy’s hands when he tries to undress him. “Sherlock,” Daddy tries again, “It’s only a quick bath, I can’t let you go to bed so messy can I?”

He knows that Daddy is trying to reason with him but right now he’s not reasonable. He knows he has no choice, that he will be having a bath and that he actually likes baths but none of that matters right now. As soon as he’s naked, Sherlock bolts with Daddy close behind him. Daddy catches him by the wrist before he gets very far, and Sherlock howls.

Daddy doesn’t say anything. He just firmly but gently guides Sherlock to the bath and eases him into the water. Daddy offers him a dummy but he just hurls it across the room. Again, Daddy stays silent and just runs a soapy flannel over Sherlock’s cheeks. Sherlock screams when Daddy washes his hair even though he knows that his hair is full of sauce and jam. Snot and tears smear across his face, and Daddy wipes him clean before helping him out of the bath. He shivers and cries but no more tears come out and somehow that makes things worse.

Daddy offers him the dummy again and this time Sherlock takes it. He stumbles to his bedroom and lays down on the bed, sucking and whimpering as Daddy applies cream to his bottom and tapes on a clean nappy. Daddy helps him into his one piece pyjamas, and Sherlock manages to behave himself. He’s utterly spent and nearly limp so Daddy has to do most of the work.

Sherlock panics when Daddy heads for the door and follows close behind as he prepares a bottle in the kitchen. A warm bottle seems appealing to Sherlock, and he doesn’t protest when Daddy curls up in bed with him and teases the nipple over his lips. He cuddles his monkey and suckles but he’s still tearful. Daddy pets his hair and assures him that he’s safe and loved. When the bottle is finished, Daddy offers him the dummy again. Sherlock accepts it, and Daddy moves so that he can lay down beside him. Sherlock buries his face in Daddy’s chest and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll manage a bit of sleep.

XXXX

John wakes in the middle of the night to the sour smell of vomit and a hysterical Sherlock. He opens his eyes and discovers Sherlock sitting up in the bed covered in sick and only half awake. He’s crying and gagging, and John manages to move over before Sherlock vomits again. He gets up and moves to the other side of the bed, standing in front of Sherlock and brushing sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Do you think you’ll be sick again, or is that all of it,” he asks.

Sherlock’s gaze is vacant and he’s hyperventilating. He lurches forward and gives a couple of dry heaves, so John determines that he probably doesn’t have anything left to vomit. “All right, it’s all right,” he murmurs as he rubs Sherlock’s arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up then.”

Jon strips Sherlock of his pyjamas and checks his nappy. It’s wet enough that John decides to change him before dressing him again. Once Sherlock is clean and dry, John pulls him in for a cuddle. Sherlock is still half-asleep and crying but he’s no longer gagging. There’s no fever, and John doubts that Sherlock is physically ill. Trauma manifests in stranger ways, he supposes.

The bed clothes can wait until Sherlock is asleep, and John decides that Sherlock might as well clean his teeth or at the very least rinse his mouth. When presented with his toothbrush Sherlock makes no move to perform the ritual. Instead John cleans his teeth and prompts him to rinse and spit. “There, isn’t that better, love?”

No answer, not that he expected one. He guides Sherlock to the sofa, handing him the inchworm and a spare dummy so that he can warm a bottle. He listens as Sherlock soothes himself by squeezing the toy, and he allows Sherlock to bring the toy to bed. They both can’t sleep on the sofa, so John's bedroom it is. John shoves a pile of forensic pathology books onto the floor before peeling back the duvet and helping Sherlock into bed. Sherlock’s eyes close as soon he latches onto the bottle. John sits behind Sherlock with his legs spread and Sherlock’s back against his chest. Sherlock continues to periodically squeeze the inchworm so it plays music. John hums quietly and strokes Sherlock’s hair with his free hand.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers, “We’ll be okay.”

John isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince of that: himself or Sherlock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I've been sick and overwhelmed with work. Hopefully I should be back to updating more regularly!

John feeds the soiled bed clothes into the washing machine before going to the toilet. He locks the door, sits on the edge of the bathtub, and allows the sobs to wrack his body. He’d read about parents feeling helpless and hopeless in the face of their children’s problems. He knew it made perfect sense on an emotional level that parents would be devastated by their children’s devastation, but that knowledge didn’t prepare him for the reality. There was nothing he could do to alleviate Sherlock’s pain. 

When he’s confident that he won’t cry and wake Sherlock, he washes his face with cold water and crawls into bed with him. Sherlock’s body is a warm, leaden weight beside him. Although his brow is slightly furrowed Sherlock is clearly asleep. John lays his head on Sherlock’s chest and listens to the steady heartbeat before finally allowing his eyes to close.  
Nightmares are plentiful, and Sherlock wakes frequently. He doesn’t vomit again and is often content to accept a dummy and cuddles from John before dozing. Two nappy changes and three bottles help Sherlock sleep until nearly eight the following morning. John has already decided that the day will be spent quietly, with minimal demands made on Sherlock. He doesn’t even ask if Sherlock would like to use the toilet, he just changes his nappy.

Sherlock amuses himself with a toy mobile phone while John uses the toilet and cleans his teeth. The phone depicts Iggle Piggle and lights up whenever Sherlock presses the buttons. John prompts Sherlock to clean his teeth, but Sherlock has little interest in doing the task himself. He’s more focused on his toy, but he doesn’t object when John slips the toothbrush into his mouth. Sherlock even opens his mouth so John can clean his molars but it takes several prompts for him to spit the excess toothpaste into the sink. 

The fussing and anxiety begins when John makes his way to the kitchen. Sherlock trails behind him dragging his blanket and Iggle Piggle phone as he whimpers. John absently finds a clean dummy on the counter and presses it to Sherlock’s lips. The nipple slides in, and Sherlock gives a few tentative sucks before calming. He still insists on watching John prepare breakfast which turns out to be porridge. Sherlock doesn’t particularly care for porridge, but John has his reasons.  
John makes himself a cup of tea and pours juice into Sherlock’s Iggle Piggle cup. He can trust Sherlock to bring a lidded cup to the living room, and Sherlock is surprisingly compliant. When John follows him carrying his tea and two bowls of porridge Sherlock sits on the sofa and watches him with wide eyes. John carefully arranges everything on the coffee table before removing Sherlock’s dummy. Sherlock shrieks in protest but quiets after John spoons porridge into his mouth. He’s too surprised to fuss and sits with a mouth full of porridge until John prompts him to swallow.

“Well done, Sherlock,” John praises. He offers another spoon full of porridge and Sherlock accepts. He continues until the bowl is scraped clean, and he presses a kiss to Sherlock’s head. “Just brilliant, eating all of your porridge. Here, why don’t you have some juice while I eat mine?”

Sherlock drinks his juice and absently watches Chuggington as John eats his breakfast. He cuddles his blanket and lays his head on the armrest. John finishes his porridge and sips on his tea before getting up and spreading a soft blanket on the floor. Sherlock glances at him and lifts his head to watch as John places a few of Sherlock’s favorite toys on the blanket. The plush inchworm is there as are the shape sorter, an octopus that makes all sorts of music, and the nursery rhyme car keys. 

John is laying the proverbial bait; all he has to do is wait for Sherlock to bite.  
XXXXX

Sherlock’s curiosity gets the better of him and he slips off the couch and crawls to the blanket. He watches as Daddy tries to play with the shape sorter. Daddy is pressing the heart into the square hole. Sherlock giggles and bats Daddy’s hand away. “No, this one,” he says as he presses the heart into the correct hole.

“Oh, you’re right. It does go there. Now where should I put the circle?”

Again Sherlock shows Daddy where to place the shape and is pleased to see that Daddy is impressed. He’s so busy with his game that he doesn’t even notice when Daddy gets up and sits on the sofa to read the newspaper. He almost starts to cry but Daddy smiles at him and says, “I’m right here, love. I’m just reading the newspaper while you have a play.”  
Sherlock isn’t entirely convinced, but he stops himself from throwing a strop. Instead he reaches for his dummy on the coffee table and sucks it as he plays with the nursery rhyme car keys. He’s particularly fond of “Hey Diddle Diddle” and plays that one repeatedly as Daddy peruses the paper. It’s all boring stuff, really. If Daddy wants to know what’s going on the world he would be better off asking Mycroft.

He’s so enthralled in his play that he doesn’t even notice when his eyelids begin to droop or his body starts to sway. Perhaps he’s a bit tired, he thinks. Sherlock lies down on his tummy and closes his eyes as he sucks his dummy. He presses the inchworm and listens to the music as he drifts.

XXXXXX  
John carefully arranges a fleece throw over Sherlock’s prone body before traipsing to the loo and having a leisurely shower. There’s something delightful about an uninterrupted, private shower and John emerges from the steam feeling better than he has in days. He even has time to give himself a thorough shave, and John can’t help but smile.  
In the living room Sherlock snuffles in his sleep, and John knows his time alone is coming to an end. Sherlock has already been asleep for over an hour, it’s unlikely that he’ll sleep any longer. He heats a bottle and brings it with him to the sofa where he checks his e-mail until a cry startles him.

“There’s my darling boy,” John croons as he helps Sherlock onto the sofa and into his lap. “You were just having a sleep, weren’t you? It’s all right.”

Sherlock’s eyes are watery and red but he doesn’t scream or wail. John feeds him the bottle and rocks him gently until Sherlock’s muscles relax. He goes nearly limp in John’s arms and his head lolls in the crook of John’s right arm. “Good boy, I’m so proud of you for drinking your bottle without any fuss.” 

John wipes the milky drool from the corners of Sherlock’s mouth and turns him over his shoulder to burp him. Sherlock’s head rests on his shoulder, and he can feel Sherlock’s slow and even breaths against his neck. He firmly pats Sherlock’s back until Sherlock burps. He pulls Sherlock away from him and watches his face. Sherlock’s eyes are heavy lidded again and his lips are pursed and sucking. John gives him a dummy before helping him back onto the blanket.

“Someone has a wet nappy from all his milk. I think it might be more comfortable if we should get a dry one.”

There’s a supply of nappies, wipes, and cream behind the sofa and John retrieves everything he needs before kneeling in front of Sherlock. Sherlock watches him bleary eyes and waves the plush inchworm as John slips off his pyjama bottoms. John hears a heavy sigh of relief as he unfastens the heavy nappy and runs a cool wet wipe over Sherlock’s bum. He applies cream before taping on the clean nappy and rubbing Sherlock’s tummy. He leans down to kiss the exposed flesh, and Sherlock gives a surprised giggle. John kisses Sherlock’s tummy again, and Sherlock erupts into peals of laughter.  
Sherlock wriggles and refuses to allow John to put his pyjama bottoms back on, and John doesn’t fight him. If he wants to lay about in a t-shirt and a nappy then so be it. Sherlock crawls into John’s lap and hands rests his head on John’s chest. “Why don’t you and I read a story,” John suggests. Sherlock’s eyes light up, and he races to his bedroom to retrieve his copy of The Story of Babar. 

Sherlock cuddles with John on the sofa and delights in the story. John reads the words but he allows Sherlock to determine when to turn the page. Sometimes Sherlock just likes to look at the illustrations for a bit longer. When they finish reading, John realizes that it’s time for lunch. He considers preparing sandwiches but decides to put the question to Sherlock. “Sherlock, would you like to go with Daddy to the chippie down the road for lunch?”

Sherlock grins. “Yes please,” he shouts as he hurries to find his trousers and shoes. John helps him dress; his nappy is wet but not enough to warrant a change. 

“Remember, you must hold Daddy’s hand while we walk. It’s very dangerous for little boys to walk so close to the road without their daddies,” John warns.

It’s not really necessary, though. When Sherlock is this little he wants to hold John’s hand, and John is certain if he could carry Sherlock then Sherlock would request that instead. They step outside, and Sherlock claps his hand as they walk. It’s not far to the chippie, something John is grateful for given how hungry he is. Sherlock bounces beside him, exuding unbridled joy as he takes a trip with his daddy.

When they reach the chippie Sherlock is too shy to give his order, although he might just be playing. John never knows. John ends up ordering fish and chips for both of them, extra vinegar for Sherlock. He pays for the meal, and they begin the walk home. Sherlock is nearly skipping, and John has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing.  
There’s a package waiting for them outside of the flat. John scoops it up before Sherlock can get a good look and patently ignores his questions about its contents. Sherlock looks as though he’s about to strop until John reminds him of the fish and chips. Sherlock thinks better of his tantrum and closes his mouth.

Inside Sherlock waits impatiently as John unwraps their meals and plates them. He whinges when John lays the plates on the table; he wanted to watch Chuggington while they ate lunch. John relents, and they eat in the living room. Sherlock is pressed up against John on the sofa, and he steals chips from John’s plate despite having his own. “They taste better,” he tells John by way of explanation. 

John carefully says nothing when he notices Sherlock’s eyelids start to droop. It’s hard to resist a sleep on a full belly, but Sherlock does his best. He struggles to stay awake through an episode of Teletubbies, whimpering when John gets up to clear their plates. In the kitchen John warms as a bottles as he washes the plates.  
Sherlock is nearly asleep when John returns, and he whinges when John changes him into a dry nappy before offering him the bottle. He gives a few sleepy sucks but is too tired to continue. John carefully arranges him on the sofa, giving him the inchworm and a dummy as well as covering him with a blanket.

John stands back to admire his work before heading back to the kitchen to retrieve the package. He hopes that it will help, but he has no way of knowing until Sherlock wakes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I've been working a great deal of overtime recently. Hopefully I'll be on a more regular posting schedule now, however please know that this story is not abandoned. I'm working diligently to complete it, and I have a sequel in the hopper. Thanks for all the support and kind comments. xx

Sherlock dozes for the better part of the afternoon, and John takes the opportunity to have a kip as well. He cuddles next to Sherlock on the sofa and eventually ends up with Sherlock mostly on top of him. There’s a wet patch on his jumper from Sherlock’s drool, and his left leg is beginning to fall asleep. When John finally decides to get up it’s nearly time for supper. His movement jostles Sherlock who begins to cry plaintively and reach out for him. 

John strokes Sherlock’s hair and hands him his blanket and monkey before turning on the telly. Postman Pat is on, and Sherlock watches with bleary eyes. His dummy bobs in his mouth, and he quiets. He’s not awake enough to notice the box next to the coffee table, and John thinks better of drawing attention to it. Instead he goes into the kitchen and rummages through the cupboards for something edible. He finds two tins of beans and a loaf of bread. Beans and toast is an acceptable dinner, especially when dinner involves Sherlock.

As he slips two pieces of bread into the toaster he hears movement from the living room. Sherlock must have noticed the box; John has to force himself to continue preparing dinner instead of interrupting Sherlock. Eventually his curiosity gets the best of him, and he tiptoes to the living room. He finds Sherlock sitting on the floor, carefully examining the contents of the box.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sherlock peers into the box and discovers a doll house and several figures. There’s a Daddy, just like his Daddy, what appears to be a Mummy, a baby, and three other adult male dolls. He carefully removes everything from the box before sitting back to admire his work. He wouldn’t have chosen a doll house for himself, but he supposes that it could be fun. There’s even tiny furniture for Sherlock to set up in the rooms and car to put in the garage. 

Sherlock gingerly places the furniture in the correct rooms. He’s delighted to see that there’s a proper cot for the baby and even a soft blanket for him. There’s a loo in the house, and Sherlock giggles as he decides to make the Daddy doll use the toilet. When the Daddy doll is finished making his wee Sherlock makes him wash his hands in the sink. Maybe this toy will be more fun than he anticipated.

As he shifts to lean forward onto his knees, Sherlock becomes aware that he is uncomfortably wet. He shifts again, and there is no denying that his nappy is wet and cold. It’s also starting to chafe, and Sherlock’s bum is a bit sore. He starts to cry and not even his dummy comforts him. It’s only when he sees Daddy enter the room that he’s able to calm down a bit. He runs to Daddy and throws his arms around him. Daddy returns the cuddle and sways side to side with Sherlock in his arms. 

“Wet,” Sherlock says plaintively. 

Daddy understands and leads Sherlock to his bedroom. Sherlock lays on the bed and Daddy slips a towel under his bum before removing Sherlock’s trousers and nappy. He winces when he sees that Sherlock’s bum is indeed red and raw. “I’m sorry, love. Daddy should have changed your nappy earlier. We’ll just have to use a bit of cream, won’t we? I think after we eat dinner a soak in the bath is in order.”

Sherlock doesn’t protest. The nappy cream soothes his chapped bottom, and Daddy is careful not to hurt him when he tapes on a clean nappy. Once his trousers are on Sherlock follows Daddy to the kitchen where beans and toast await them. Daddy spreads beans on Sherlock’s toast and presents him with the plate. Sherlock watches as Daddy spreads beans on his toast but makes no move to feed himself.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock? I thought you liked beans and toast,” Daddy asks.

Sherlock chews on his lower lip before replying, “Daddy do it.”

“Oh, I see,” Daddy says, and he really does see. He picks up Sherlock’s toast and moves it towards his mouth. “Take a bite, darling.”

Sherlock obediently opens his mouth and bites down. He grins as he chews. Daddy smiles at him and says that he’s such a good boy. Sherlock is proud that he’s doing so well and eating his dinner.

Daddy continues to feed him until his plate is clean. Sherlock drinks his juice while Daddy eats his own dinner. His right hand drifts upwards, and he twists his hair around his fingers as he drinks. He hasn’t done that in ages. He had forgotten how good it feels. He even allows his eyes to slip closed before opening them again. It’s too early to sleep. He wants to play and have his bath, and if Daddy sees that he’s tired he might put Sherlock to bed early.

Daddy is quiet as he clears the table and returns with a damp cloth to wipe Sherlock’s face. If he saw that Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed he doesn’t say anything. “Why don’t you have a play before your bath,” he suggests.

“Daddy comes too,” Sherlock demands. He wants Daddy to sit with him in the living room while he plays or else he might feel lonely. He doesn’t even mind if Daddy watches telly while he plays, he just wants him in the room.

“Daddy will come too. The table is cleared and the washing up can wait until after you go to bed.”

Sherlock bristles at the mention of bedtime but he knows better than to argue. If he’s naughty then he will be sent to bed early. Daddy follows him to the living room where he sits in his armchair and types on his laptop. Sherlock crawls over to his dollhouse and busies himself with the Daddy doll and the baby doll. Sherlock thinks that the baby might be hungry. The baby starts to cry and Daddy hushes him while he prepares a bottle. 

Maybe the baby has a wet nappy, then Daddy will have to change him. Sherlock lays the baby on the changing table, and has the Daddy doll change him. There, that’s better. The bottle is nice and warm in the kitchen, and Daddy feeds the baby his bottle. The baby is much happier now. Sometimes babies need their daddies to take care of them. 

“I see that Daddy is taking such good care of his baby,” Daddy observes. “The baby must feel so much better now that he has a dry nappy and full tummy.”

Sherlock nods. The baby was sad and crying before his Daddy took care of him. Sherlock abandons his dolls and climbs onto Daddy’s lap for a cuddle. Daddy sets the laptop down and wraps his arms around Sherlock, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Daddy rocks him a bit, and Sherlock struggles to keep his eyes open. He’s nearly lulled to sleep before Daddy says, “I think I know a little boy who is in need of a bath.”

Daddy guides Sherlock to the tub and turns on the taps. Sherlock is dopey and sleepy, and he needs Daddy to undress him. His arms feel like wet noodles as Daddy maneuvers them out of his shirt. He giggles when Daddy tickles his tummy. “Again,” he demands. This time Daddy leans over and blows a raspberry on the exposed skin. Sherlock roars with laughter. Daddy laughs too, and Sherlock gives him a wet kiss on his cheek. 

Sherlock’s nappy is wet again. He can’t remember making wee, but he supposes that he’s been very busy playing with his new toy. He can’t be expected to remember to use the toilet when he has so many more interesting things to attend to. Daddy removes it and gently wipes the remaining cream from his bum. Sherlock can’t help but giggle now that he’s naked, sore bum or not. He stamps his feet in excitement and sucks his fingers as Daddy adds bubbles to the bath. 

“In you get, Sherlock,” Daddy says as he helps Sherlock into the tub. Sherlock stands in the water and stomps in the tub before Daddy reminds him that little boys are to sit in the bath not stand. If Sherlock stands in the bath then he could slip and hurt himself. Then Daddy might have to take him to hospital, and Sherlock has no intention of going to Accident and Emergency tonight. Sherlock sits down and continues to splash, this time using his hands to smack the water. 

“Sherlock, if you’re going to splash all of the water out of the bath then it’s off to bed with you,” Daddy warns.  
Sherlock stops mid-splash. The floor surrounding the tub is covered in water, and Daddy’s jumper is wet. Tears prick his eyes as he realizes that he’s been quite naughty. He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until Daddy is petting his hair and shushing him. “It’s just a bit of water, darling. No need to cry,” Daddy soothes. 

Daddy distracts him with a few toy fish and a pail. Sherlock buries the fish in a mountain of bubbles and pours water from the pail to reveal them again. It’s a clever game, and Sherlock forgets about crying. While he’s distracted, Daddy begins to wash his hair. Sherlock’s eyes fall closed as Daddy massages his scalp and his head bobs forward in exhaustion. He snuffles as Daddy rinses the shampoo, and then leans against the back of the tub as Daddy runs a soapy flannel along his legs. He sucks his left thumb despite the fact that it tastes like soap and twirls his fingers in his hair. Daddy is gentle as he washes Sherlock, and Sherlock’s bottom is less sore after sitting in the warm water. 

When Daddy strokes his cheek to rouse him and offers a fluffy towel, Sherlock grabs the towel and buries his face in it. He’s so sleepy and warm that Daddy has to help lift him from the bath and then sit him on the toilet to clean his teeth. He doesn’t have a nappy on and he might have accident. It’s better to sit on the toilet and let Daddy clean his teeth than take that risk. As it turns out Daddy is quite clever. Sherlock unknowingly begins to wee and only notices when Daddy draws attention to it. “What a smart boy,” Daddy says with real pride in his voice. “You’ve earned another sticker.”

Sherlock is less concerned about his sticker and more concerned with having a warm bottle and cuddles. He’s cooperative when Daddy lays him on the bed and changes him into his pyjamas. Tonight he has soft blue pyjamas with stars on them. Daddy zips them up and pats Sherlock’s bottom affectionately. “All right, to the kitchen for a sticker and a bottle.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Sherlock allows Daddy to choose the sticker, this time it has Iggle Piggle and his boat on it. Sherlock puts it on the chart and impatiently waits for Daddy to warm his bottle. He pulls on Daddy’s jumper and tries to climb into his arms although he knows that he’s physically too big for Daddy to carry him. Daddy pets his hair and retrieves the bottle from the pan filled with water on the stove. It’s nice and warm, and Daddy lets Sherlock bring his bottle to his room. Daddy scoops up the dummy, blanket, and monkey from the living room before following him. Sherlock won’t be able to sleep without them. He’s lucky to have such a brilliant daddy. 

Daddy pulls back the duvet and Sherlock climbs into bed. He nestles against the pillows until Daddy crawls in after him. Daddy pulls Sherlock to his chest, and Sherlock opens his mouth in anticipation of his bottle. His lips start moving in a sucking motion to their own accord even before the nipple slips between them. Warm milk slides down his throat as he rubs his face in Daddy’s jumper. Daddy hums as he feeds him, and Sherlock is so relaxed that he begins to drool around the nipple. Daddy wipes his mouth clean with the tea towel from the nightstand before laying the towel on his shoulder and coaxing Sherlock to sit up so he can be burped. The firm, rhythmic pats on his back are soothing, and Sherlock melts into Daddy and gazes at the lamp. He’s sleepy, and his vision is a bit blurry but he can’t bother to worry about it.   
“What a big boy, drinking all of your milk,” Daddy whispers. “Perhaps it’s time for your story.”

Sherlock nods against Daddy’s shoulders and turns around so that his back is to Daddy’s chest. Tonight Daddy has chosen to the Little Red Hen. The animals are silly and selfish, refusing to help the Hen make her bread but then they all want to gobble it up. Sherlock likes the sound of Daddy’s voice as he reads. He feels the rumble in Daddy’s chest as he talks, and Sherlock drifts between the sensations. 

At some point Daddy closes the book and turns off the light. Sherlock whinges and twists in protest until Daddy offers him a dummy and his blanket. He’s not ready to go to sleep, not just yet. He wants to stay awake with Daddy, only Daddy is petting his hair and rocking him and it’s very difficult to keep his eyes open. With Daddy so close to him it feels safe to fall asleep, and so he does.

Xxxxx

John jerks awake in the middle of the night to the familiar sound of Sherlock’s cries. Sherlock’s face is buried in the duvet and he’s only half awake. John rubs his back in hopes that he will settle down but to no avail. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches before shuffling to the kitchen for a bottle. 

Sherlock is a crying, sweaty mess by the time he returns. He blindly gropes for John and the bottle and it takes several minutes for Sherlock to latch on properly. “There’s a bub, just relax,” John croons as Sherlock gives the bottle several hearty sucks. He manages to convince Sherlock to hold his own bottle before getting up to retrieve a dry nappy and cream.   
Sherlock cries during the nappy change. John isn’t sure if it’s from discomfort due to his chapped bottom or from distress or a combination of both. All he knows is that Sherlock kicks vigorously as John tries to apply the cream. “Nearly done, Sherlock. Keep still,” he pleads. When he finishes with the cream he somehow manages to tape on the dry nappy without further incident. Sherlock is still crying however it’s now taken on a listless, desolate quality. Somehow that’s more disturbing than the wailing from a few minutes ago. 

John wipes his hands clean and climbs back into bed with Sherlock. The bottle lays forgotten, slowly dripping onto the duvet. John picks it up and offers it to Sherlock again. This time Sherlock makes no moves to hold the bottle himself. John holds it firmly in place to prevent Sherlock from ingesting too much air. Sherlock twists himself until he’s comfortable in the crook of John’s arm. His eyes are open but heavy-lidded, and he gazes at John sleepily. John watches as the lines on Sherlock’s face smooth and disappear as he relaxes. Sherlock yawns around the nipple and closes his eyes. When the milk is gone John moves to replace the bottle with a dummy.

Half-asleep, Sherlock sucks his dummy and twists his fingers in John’s pyjamas. John’s noticed that Sherlock seeks out different textures and likes to run his fingers through fabric, hair, fur, anything he possibly can. He’ll have to invest in more toys for Sherlock that will satisfy this need. John moves until he’s lying down next to Sherlock. He cups his face and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose and then to his forehead. Sherlock cuddles closer, and John can feel his breathing slow down as he drifts to sleep. The last thing he feels before dropping off to sleep is Sherlock’s breath against his neck.


End file.
